


Things Right and True

by muse2write



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Post-Finale, Season 3 Finale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-05 20:44:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6722695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muse2write/pseuds/muse2write
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The two Witnesses reunite.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Things Right and True

**Author's Note:**

> The finale hurt me deeply, as I know it did many of you. This is my small attempt to fix the mess the writers tried to fob on us as a season finale. I wouldn't have minded Abbie and Joe's deaths if Crane and Jenny had gone with them, leaving the way clear for a new Team Witness to come forward. I also wanted to have Crane address the "Abbie as helper and guide," because that is the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard.

The summons came just as Abbie Mill was lifting her morning cup of coffee to her lips. It was a shimmering chime that reverberated in the air around her, a single pure note.

 

Abbie hadn’t had much experience with the sound before, but after six months in the limbo that was the afterlife, she knew what it was.

 

“Huh,” she commented to the empty kitchen, “that’s interesting.”

           

* * *

“Someone call for an escort?”

 

 Abbie turned at the crunch of boots against sand behind her, and she offered the man approaching a smile. “Hey, Joe,” she said, walking forward to greet him with a kiss on the cheek.

 

“Hey, Abs,” he said affectionately, one arm snaking forward to wrap around her in a hug. “I’m surprised to see you here this early.”

 

Abbie pulled away and smothered a yawn—it was just past dawn, and the sun was beginning to spill its orange light across the river behind her. “Did you get a call, too?”

 

“Yep,” Joe said easily, rocking back on his heels, his smile dipping a bit at the corners. He had much more experience escorting souls across the river than she had—most of the time, the chime that summoned him to the riverbank heralded the arrival of one of his army buddies. “Any idea who it could be?”

 

Abbie shook her head and smothered another yawn. “I hope I look less like a sleepy mess and more like a proper river crossing-guard by the time I make it across.”

 

Joe eyed her sympathetically. “Didn’t sleep well? Is Franklin keeping you up too late again?”

 

Before Abbie could answer, there was a soft sound behind her. She turned, Joe stepping up beside her, and they both stared down at the boat that had materialized on the sand. It was larger than most of the boats that Abbie knew were used to escort souls across the river—this one looked like it could easily hold four people, maybe more.

 

 Joe lifted his head and scanned down the beach. “If there’s two of us, shouldn’t there be another boat?”

 

“Maybe it’s someone we both know.” Abbie wondered, still staring at the boat.

 

Joe’s head snapped around the moment the words left her lips, and Abbie stared back at him, her eyes narrowing as his flew wide. The list of people they both knew was very slim…

 

The realization hit her a moment before it reached him. All sleepiness banished, Abbie scrambled for the boat, her heart thundering, Joe a step behind her.

* * *

_Come on, come on! Of all the days for the mist to be this thick!_

 

True to afterlife theatrics, the mist always cloaked the self-propelled boat until it was nearly at the riverbank, and Abbie was pretty sure her heart was going to pound out of her chest. Joe was at the prow of the boat, stiff and poised as a hunting dog, straining to see the opposite bank.

 

Did she really want to see who she thought might be standing on that bank? Abbie sank into her seat at the stern and rubbed her palms against her thighs, as if that would banish the sweat. _It can’t be him. It has to be someone else from Sleepy Hollow. I told him to live. He wouldn’t do that to me._

 

Finally, _finally,_ the mist began to roll back, and Abbie could see the opposite bank, where she and Crane had once disembarked to find the corpses of Revolutionary-era soldiers and the entrance to the Catacombs.

 

There were two figures standing there on the bank, under the shadows of the leafless trees, and Abbie’s heart tried to plummet and tear itself out of her throat at the same time.

 

She knew those two silhouettes, knew their features before the boat even drew close enough to make them out. She knew her sister’s curly hair that floated in the breeze as she tipped her head back to answer the man beside her, knew her sister’s cautious stance, unsure of the world she found herself in, always alert.

 

The man beside her sister…Abbie’s heart twisted in her chest. She knew the tall length of him. She knew the way he stood, looking out over the river, waiting patiently, standing with a soldier’s grace, his hands locked properly together behind his back, as he had stood so many times before at her side. She knew that his blue eyes would be looking for something, anything, to give them direction, and Abbie felt her stomach lurch as she saw him shift. He had seen them.

 

 “I’m going to kill him,” Abbie announced, getting to her feet and making her way over so she could stand next to Joe.

 

 “You can’t,” Joe answered absently, his steady gaze never moving from her sister. Abbie wasn’t entirely certain he wasn’t going to dive off the end of the boat and swim to shore. “They wouldn’t be here if they weren’t…”

 

 “But maybe they are,” Abbie said, desperate. “I came here once when I was still…” she swallowed hard.

 

“We wouldn’t have been summoned if they were, Abs.” Joe’s voice was gentle, and her heart twisted again.

 

The man might have seen them first, but it was her sister that hailed them.

 

 “Joe?” She cried, incredulous, her voice tapering into what might have been a sob.

 

 “Jay!” Joe called back, his voice breaking. Then he was leaping off the boat, landing in knee-deep water, no longer content to let the boat deliver them to their destination.

 

Jenny met him at the water’s edge at a run just as his boots met the gravelly sand, flinging herself into his open arms and nearly sending them both toppling into the water. Joe wrapped his arms tightly around her, burying his face in her hair as she clutched him, reveling in the feeling of his warm, breathing body surrounding her. She smothered her sobs in his shoulder, hardly daring to believe her senses: his warm breath against her cheek, his lips brushing against her ear, whispering her name and _I love you_ and _I missed you_ and _you’re here and I won’t leave you and Jay, Jen, Mills, it’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here._

 

Then his lips were on hers, and Jenny drank him in, because he was here, and she was with him, and this was everything she had prayed for before the darkness took her. The last six months melted away, and some of the hurt and pain was wiped away.

 

Abbie watched her sister and Joe reunite as the boat beached itself, the wooden hull scraping against the pebbles. An affectionate smile tugged at her lips as she watched their passionate embrace, but then she turned her attention back to the man who waited, his blue eyes drinking her in. He had not moved from his spot when Joe had rushed towards them, but he moved now as she made a move to hop out of the boat.

 

Abbie ignored his hand, extended at the perfect level for her to grasp and help her disembark gracefully. Hopping down from where she stood, she stalked forward and came to a halt a few steps away from him, propping her hands on her hips and tipping her head up.

 

 “Crane. What the _hell_ are you doing here?”

 

She wasn’t pleased with him; he could tell that much. He hadn’t forgotten any of her movements or expressions in the time they’d spent apart; in fact, they had become all the dearer, and seeing her in her righteous anger made him want to sweep her up into his arms as he had rarely had the courage to do and simply hold her, because he was with her, and with her at his side, he could survive _anything._

 

Even the afterlife.

 

  This is where he belonged.

 

 He opened his mouth to answer her, but was thwarted by his travel companion. With a glad shriek of “Abbie!” Jenny untangled herself from Joe and nearly tackled her sister.

 

 Abbie rocked back from the force of Jenny’s enthusiastic embrace, and then the tears came, pricking at her eyes as she closed them. “Hey,” she said softly, wrapping her arms around Jenny as tightly as Joe had, holding her close.

 

Jenny pulled away, and Abbie blinked the tears away, giving her sister a smile. “As unhappy as I am about the method, it’s good to see you, Jen.”

 

 “Are you okay?” Jen ran her hands down Abbie’s arms, her brow furrowed in concern, checking for injuries.

 

 Abbie chuckled and waved her off. “I’m okay. The afterlife heals a lot of hurts.”

 

 Jenny raised an eyebrow at that, and leaned into Joe as he came up beside her and wrapped an arm around her, clearly unwilling to go without contact for more than a few moments.

 

 “We should get back,” Abbie said, not giving the man behind Jenny another glance and returning to the boat. She ignored the concerned look that passed between Jenny and Joe.

 

 As Joe helped Jenny into the boat before clambering in behind her, Ichabod Crane stepped forward, his gaze never leaving Abbie, who stood in the prow, watching him.

 

  “Leftenant—”

 

At the sound of her old title, now the endearment that only he used, Abbie lifted her chin. She wouldn’t let him see how anger and relief warred in her chest, how a creeping sense of guilty happiness was already taking root.

 

 “Get in the damn boat, Crane.”

* * *

The ride back to the other side of the river was awkward.

 

Abbie and Crane were occupying opposite sides of the boat, as they once had before. As before, Crane was watching her steadily, his gaze pleading, but Abbie wouldn’t look at him. Huddled in the middle between them, Joe and Jenny kept their heads tucked close together, Joe answering Jenny’s rapid questions as quickly as he could, shooting questioning glances at Abbie every so often, aware of Jenny doing the same to Crane.

 

* * *

 “I can’t believe it,” Jenny breathed. “This is so _weird._ It’s all here.”

 

 Joe squeezed her hand. “Your trailer’s here, too. We can go see it after we stop by and say hi to my dad.”

 

“And Mama,” Abbie added, smiling at her sister.

 

 Jenny stilled. “Mama’s here?”

 

Abbie nodded, her gaze going soft. “She’s here, and I know she’ll want to see you.” Jenny gave her sister a fierce grin, her eyes shiny with tears.

 

 “Come on,” Joe urged, tugging her away. “Let’s let them get settled.”

 

 Just before they headed over to Joe’s truck, Abbie reached out and snagged her sister’s hand, squeezing it. “Hey, Jen, thanks,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Thanks for taking care of him.”

 

 Jen nodded, her smile disappearing. “Go easy on him. He’s missed you.”

 

Abbie nodded, her gaze wandering over to the man who stood a polite distance away, his gaze on the house in front of them, inscrutable. He softened as Joe approached him and offered a handshake which turned into a hug. Her heart ached. _I missed him, too._

 

 As she climbed the steps to her porch and watched Joe and Jenny drive off, he trailed behind, clearly unsure if he was wanted. He halted at the bottom of the steps and stared up at her.

  

“If you would rather I seek other lodging—” His stiff manner was back, and Abbie smothered a smile. Why did he always hide behind his eighteenth century sensibilities when he was uncomfortable? 

 

She smiled at him, and it was amazing to see how quickly he relaxed, emboldened by that one simple gesture. He gave her a cautious smile in return, his blue eyes warming, and she spread her hands.

 

 “You lived here before. I don’t see why that has to change.”

 

 He ascends the steps slowly, taking in his surroundings. She hasn’t changed anything—her table and chairs are still there, as is the porch swing and the flag he put up, and she sees him relax even further. The familiarity helped her, too, when she first got here, even as it hurt.

 

As he approaches her, she crosses her arms over her chest. “This doesn’t mean I’m not still mad at you. Crane, if you tell me the Horseman did this—” she gestures to him standing before her, “I’ll kill you again and then go back there and kill him, too.” 

 

 His smile falters, and his hands, which had been extended, fall back to his side, where she sees them begin to twitch and flex. It’s something he’s always done when he’s been uncomfortable, and the sight of it makes her breath catch in her throat.

 

 “It was nothing like that.” He extends one arm in a sweeping gesture towards the swing; Abbie settles on one side and waits while he settles on the other. He pauses, and Abbie knows he’s thinking of the last time he saw her on this porch, and she thaws a little.

 

“Crane,” she says gently, reaching out to take his hand. The contact jolts him; she watches him startle and then sink down beside her, his gaze never leaving hers.

 

 “I don’t know what it was,” he finally confesses after several moments of silence. “Miss Jenny and I had been working on a case for some of the gentlemen in the FBI who had approached me after you…” He clears his throat. “I think it was some sort of demon. Miss Jenny and I fought it, but it overpowered us.” He spreads his hands and gazes at her. “Here we are.”

 

Abbie stares at him. “That’s it? A demon? _Crane._ ”

 

He meets her gaze squarely, and the emotion there makes her breath come short. “There is nothing in that world for me without you, Leftenant.”

 

Abbie shakes her head, not to negate his words, but to distract herself. “Crane, you were supposed to be finding the next Witness. You were supposed to be helping them! You were supposed to _live._ ”

 

“Not without you!” Crane reaches out and captures her hands in his, staring down at her, his blue eyes blazing. “Abbie, I swore to you once that it was not our destiny for one of us to bury the other. I stood vigil beside an empty box, and I buried my heart that day. No,” he said, when she opened her mouth to reply, “you were never my guide or my help, Abbie. You are my partner, my equal, the second Witness to stand by my side. You were never less, and I could not bear the thought of continuing without you.

 

“My soul can be free to choose another Witness as well,” he continued, his fingers tangling with hers. “The Witnesses can find each other, and if there are ways to help them from here, we will do so, but we will do so _together_. It was never my intention to wage war without you by my side.”

 

“Crane…” Abbie’s voice is a whisper, and then he’s gathering her to him in the embrace that he wanted to give her since he first saw her standing in the boat. Something settles into place as she leans willingly into his arms, and her lithe form warm against him is all he needs.

 

 He is _home._

 

She pulls away and swipes at her eyes, and he doesn’t try to disguise the sheen in his own as she gives him a watery chuckle and stands.

 

He watches her cross the porch, and then turn back to give him a true smile. “Are you coming? I think I might have some donuts waiting.” 

 

He stands, and then immediately sinks into the bow he has only given her twice before. The last time he held this pose, his heart was breaking, but now, it has begun to knit itself back together. He is where he belongs.

 

“As always, I am at your service, Leftenant.”

 

The smile she gives him is wicked. "See if you're still saying that after I get you to help me and Franklin in the Fenistela." 

 

She laughs at the sight his wide eyes and the way he snaps out of his bow to goggle at her. "Leftenant?" 

 

"Come on." She extends a hand to him, and he gratefully crosses the porch to take it. His fingers entwine with hers, a warmth she hasn't felt in six month spreading through her body. One thing at a time. First, there will be coffee and donuts, and then she will show him this strange world he has found himself in. 

 

It wouldn't be the first time. 

 


	2. How to Spend Eternity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2. Or, how Joe Corbin is the first mate of the S.S. Ichabbie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This second part was begging to be written. Pure fluff. Oh, and I might have some details of the finale wrong, but I refuse to go back and watch that drivel again to try to get them right. Unbetaed.

“And here I used to be the nocturnal one.”

 

Ichabod Crane lifts his head from his perusal of the empty chessboard in front of him and focuses on the woman who is leaning against the doorframe of the dining room.

 

“Forgive me, Leftenant,” he says softly. “I find that I’ve been having trouble sleeping.”

 

“I know,” Abbie tells him wryly, padding over to sink into the chair next to him. “I’ve heard you the last two nights. What’s going on, Crane?”

 

His throat works as he swallows, and he jumps as she places her hand over his, stilling his flexing fingers where he had been worrying them against the wood. “I don’t want to sleep,” he admits throatily, not meeting her eyes. “I’m afraid that if I close my eyes, I will wake up, and the last two nights will have been a dream. They have been so similar to what I experienced when you--” The words die on his throat, and he swallows again.

 

The palm of her hand is warm against his, and she keeps her gaze on him, direct and steady as it has always been. Her fingers curl around his, and he startles as she squeezes them. “I’m _here_ , Crane. You’re here with me.”

 

He sighs heavily, and rubs his free hand across his eyes. The he tilts his head and casts her a sideways glance, his blue eyes regaining some of their light as the corner of his mouth twitches into a rueful smile. “It has been a bit of an adjustment.”

 

Abbie chuckles at that, and he delights in the rich sound. “That is an understatement.”

 

* * *

Joe watches from the couch as Jenny gets up for the fourth time that afternoon and starts rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. “What are you looking for, Jen?”

 

“I’m not sure,” she answers absently, closing one set and opening another, her brow furrowed.

 

“I didn’t touch any of your stuff,” he teases, and she tosses a quick grin at him over her shoulder before she is back to her previous task.

 

“You wouldn’t dare. You know better.”

 

Joe knows what she’s doing. She’s reacclimating herself to her trailer, and still trying to wrap her mind around how everything that was hers in Sleepy Hollow is somehow _here,_ in the afterlife.

 

Joe gets it. In the days following his death, he would spend hours at a time in his truck, running his hands over every inch of it, or following the grains in the wood of his dad’s cabin, trying to understand. He’s had six months to come to terms with the fact that he’s not going to understand everything about this place, and he’s mostly stopped asking questions about why things appear or why some things work and some things don’t. (The Internet, for example, doesn’t exist, but cell phones still function.)

 

But he knows Jen, and he grins. The afterlife hasn’t seen anything like her. She’s going to keep poking at it until it gives her some answers.

 

Jenny swings open the latest set of cabinet doors and stops short at the sight that greets her. “Huh.” She casts a bemused eye over her shoulder at Joe, who straightens, hearing something in her voice. Her lips curl in a wry grin. “A full liquor cabinet. I haven’t seen one of those in…oh, six months?”

 

Joe is off the couch and at her shoulder in a moment, reading the tension in her shoulders. “Jay?”

 

She drops her head and sighs heavily, before closing the cabinet and turning around to face him, leaning back against the counter. “It’s been a rough few months.”

 

_Miss Jenny…I’m sorry. Please, forgive me._

_Crane! Come on, Crane. It’s okay, you’ll be okay._

_Miss Jenny, forgive me. I’m sorry I could not do more._

 

  Joe reaches up and cups her cheek in his hand, his eyes searching hers. “Mills?”

 

She gives him a tight smile, eyes dark. “I lost my sister and you in the span of a day,” she whispers harshly, reaching out to twist her fingers in the fabric of his t-shirt, needing to feel his solidity. _He’s here. This isn’t a dream._

 

“I found my comfort in liquor and spending my time up at your dad’s cabin, shooting anything that moved.” She points with her chin, gesturing to the trailer around them. “I couldn’t stay here—there—at my trailer, any more.”

 

Joe doesn’t say anything; he watches her, frowning slightly, radiating sympathy. Jenny takes a deep breath and continues. “I could at least slightly function, but Crane--” her lips twist up, but there is no humor in the movement—“Crane crawled into a bottle and didn’t come out for three months. I couldn’t even get him to leave the house.”

 

Joe’s heart twists in his chest, and he moves to pull her into his arms, hold her tight and apologize, tell her he never meant to leave her alone, had never wanted to leave her alone, but she stops him with a hand on his chest, her gaze sharp.

 

She takes a shaky breath. “I thought he was going to drink himself to death. A month after I finally pulled him out of his stupor, the guys from Washington showed up.”

 

Joe’s brow creases, and he tenses. “What?”

 

Jenny shakes her head, disgusted. “They were FBI, or some department in the FBI. They wanted Crane, something about monsters and Witnesses, but he wouldn’t go without me, and there was nothing to keep me in Sleepy Hollow, so I went.

 

“We were there for two months, doing what we did in Sleepy Hollow—chasing monsters, taking down demons. Crane was ruthless.” Jenny tips her head back, colliding with the cabinet behind her with a gentle _thonk_ , closing her eyes. “I’ve never seen him like that. I think every monster we cut down, he was seeing Pandora, killing her again and again for what she did to Abbie.” She shrugs, opening her eyes and tilting forward again. “Now that I think about it, I’m not surprised—he loves her.”

 

Joe stares at her, his mouth hanging open, his eyes alight. “What?”

 

Jenny raises an eyebrow. “The night after you—after Abbie--” She swallows. “After that, we found Pandora in the cemetery, intent on raising monsters. Crane turned the Horseman on her, and as she was lying there, she looked up at Crane and marveled at how he loved Abbie. Crane never denied it.”

 

She thought that she would find Joe looking appropriately concerned and saddened by her story. Instead, her boyfriend is staring at her as if she’s just told him the best news in the world. He’s grinning like an idiot.

 

Both eyebrows go up. “Uh, what part of that story was uplifting?”

 

Joe continues to grin at her. “Crane never corrected her?”

 

“No. Is that important?”

 

She’s pretty sure that if the trailer was bigger, Joe would dancing around the room. “I _knew_ it! I _knew_ he loved her! All those times he looked like he was going to kiss her, all that crap about ' _tell her how you feel_!' I was right!”

 

He stands still for a moment, and she sees the light of a new idea taking shape in his mind. “Joe Corbin,” she says warningly, advancing on him so that he’s forced to retreat, “what are you planning?”

 

The smile he gives her is entirely too innocent. “Nothing.”

 

Jenny doesn’t believe that for a second, but she lets him pull her into his arms and kiss her until the only thing she can think about is his skin against hers. She’ll get the answers out of him later.

 

She doesn’t tell him about the dark weeks leading up to her arrival in this afterlife, about the letters she put in the mail the morning she and Crane took on their last monster. There will be time enough for that, later. Right now, she wants to relish the fact that she is right where she belongs.

* * *

“It is good to be here.”

 

“You can say that again,” Joe agrees heartily, leaning back against the wood of the cabin’s front porch and reaching out to brush his beer bottle against his companion’s, the tinny _clink_ an odd complement to the birdsong around them.

 

It’s a balmy summer day—the afterlife has weird weather patterns—and Ichabod Crane is sitting beside him on the cabin steps, his coat discarded over the rail behind them and his sleeves rolled up. His long legs are stretched out in front of him, and the beer in his hand is half gone, the glass sweaty with condensation.

 

“I’ve missed your company, Master Corbin,” Crane admits easily, bringing the bottle to his lips and taking another swallow. “Brothers-in-arms that I trusted were not so plentiful in the world I left.”

 

Joe hums his acknowledgement, soldier to soldier, and then waits for the man beside him to take another swig of his beer before asking his next question. “So, have you told Abbie you love her yet?”

 

Joe really, really wishes he had his camera out and ready when he asked that question, because watching Ichabod Crane choke on his beer and attempt to sputter an answer while turning a particular shade of red is something he would really like to share with everyone he knows. 

 

“I’m not sure I know what you are referring to,” Crane says stiffly, attempting to mop up the spilled beer and avoiding eye contact.

 

Joe grins, leaning back and turning his face up to the sun. It’s always funny how Crane gets so stuffy the second he gets uncomfortable—as if proper manners will save him from this conversation.

 

“Why don’t you tell her?”

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Crane straighten, his back as stiff as a board. He opens his mouth to reply, closes it, swallows hard, and tries again. “Eternity is a long time,” he says finally, “and there is no telling how long we will stay in this afterlife.”

 

_Oh._ Of course. Joe clears his throat. “There are other banks to the river, Crane,” he tells the man next to him. Abbie doesn’t know about them, but Joe does. “I’m not sure if they’re different afterlives or another spiritual dimension or what, but there are other places you could go.” Not that a rejection seems likely.

 

Crane processes this information in silence, the only sign of his agitation being his fingers, which curl around the bottle in a precise rhythm that only he can hear.

 

“I do not wish to jeopardize our bond as Witnesses,” he says, his voice low. “We have much work to do with Franklin and the Fenistela, if we’re to discover who the next Witnesses are and lend what aid we can. If I were to tell her my feelings, and she were not to feel the same,” his throat bobs as he swallows, and Joe can see the darkness that flits across his gaze, “I’m not sure I could abandon her to work alone to salve my wounded pride.”

 

“Eternity is a long time,” Joe agrees, taking another sip of his beer. This is going to be harder than he thought. “If you can’t tell her, can you show her?” _More than you have?_

 

Crane eyes him. “What are you suggesting?”

 

“Touch her.” When the beginnings of an affronted and scandalized expression begin to cross Crane’s face, Joe hurries to explain. “Find reasons to be close to her, her body against yours. Touch her hand, brush her hair away from her face, a hand on her shoulder, little things like that. I know that touching was taboo or something in your first life--”

 

“There were societal rules that governed the movements one made in polite company. It was not _taboo_.”

 

Joe stares at him. “All I’m saying is, I know Abbie. If she thinks it’s weird, she’ll say something. What do you have to lose?”

 

* * *

 

“Wait a minute.”

 

Joe looks up as the trailer door bangs shut behind Jenny. She’s clutching something off-white and square between two fingers, and she’s eyeing it as if it were a dead unicorn. She glances from the thing in her hand to Joe. “The afterlife has _mail_?”

 

Joe gets up and takes the heavy envelope from her, examining it. “Franklin’s here. Are you surprised?”

 

Jenny props her hands on her hips. “The afterlife has _mail_.”

 

Joe peers at their names, scrawled elegantly across the front in a script that echoes calligraphy. “Crane sent this.”

 

“ _What_?” Jenny reaches around him and plucks it from his hands, flipping it over and breaking the seal. She pulls out the heavy, embossed paper inside, turns it over, and begins reading. As she does, her eyebrows begin to crawl towards her hairline.

 

“Joe, this is a formal _dinner_ invitation. For Saturday night.”

 

“It is?” Joe snatches the card from her and reads it.

 

Jenny watches the look of barely concealed delight stealing across her boyfriend’s face. “Joe Corbin, what did you do?”

 

Joe places the invitation back in the envelope reverently and pulls her into his arms, planting a warm kiss on her forehead. “I may have told Crane that he needed to tell Abbie he loved her.”

 

“You did _what_?!”

 

* * *

Abbie opens the front door of her home, and is immediately assaulted. There is an Italian soprano belting an aria in the kitchen, accompanied by a rich baritone. The scent of oils and spices reach out to pull her farther into the house, and she can’t help the affectionate smile that rises to her lips.

 

Crane’s cooking again.

 

He’s taken over cooking duties, as if the last six months haven’t happened, and Abbie is more than happy to let him to do it. If there is one good thing about his exposure to the twenty-first century, it’s that the man has learned how to _cook_.

 

The singing is new, though.

 

She finds that she doesn’t mind it—she’d only heard his singing voice in snatches before, while he was doing his chores. Once or twice at karaoke, but there’s something about hearing him sing in the kitchen that instantly makes her house feel more like a home.

 

Yeah, she missed this.

 

Dropping her sweatshirt on the back of the couch—it was warmer than she thought it would be, and she had ditched it quickly during her run—Abbie toes off her shoes and pads into the kitchen, hopping up onto the stool on the other side of the counter, unnoticed.

 

Crane has his back to her, absorbed in the music and whatever he has bubbling away on the stove in front of him. He’s clearly been at this since she left for her run—the counters are strewn with chopped vegetables and spices, and she spots a chicken on the cutting board next to the sink.

 

“Big night tonight?”

 

At the sound of her voice, Crane spins around, his eyes lighting up. “ _Tenente!_ ” He gropes blindly for the remote that will control the speakers he has been using, to turn the volume down, and frowns when he comes up with air. Abbie plucks the remote off the counter where it sits in front of her, and turns the music down so they can actually hear each other.

 

“How was your run?” He asks companionably, turning back quickly to stir the sauce that has him so preoccupied.

 

“It kept me busy,” Abbie replies, tucking one leg underneath her. She’s found that if she spends too much time in the house, she starts to get cabin fever.  “What’s all this?” She asks, gesturing to the spread before her.

 

Crane’s face falls a little, and Abbie frowns. “What?” Then memory surfaces, and she gives him an apologetic smile. “The dinner is tonight, that’s right!” It had been a little odd, finding out that Crane had sent out formal invitations to Jenny and Joe and her mom and August for a dinner, but she understands. It would be nice to have a celebration.

 

Crane forgives her memory slip with a nod, and reaches out a hand to stay her as she starts to rise. “A moment,” he tells her, sliding a spoon into the pot he is hovering over and drawing it back out.

 

He approaches her, spoon extended, a hopeful gleam in his eye. “Will you taste this?”

 

Abbie sits up obediently, reaching forward. Crane offers the spoon, but doesn’t relinquish his hold. Abbie closes her mouth around the shallow wooden bowl, herbs and tomato and a hint of spiciness exploding against her palate as the red sauce hits her tongue, but it’s Crane’s hand gently reaching out to cup her cheek as he feeds her that startles her the most.

 

He’s been doing that a lot lately. For a guy who is usually reserved, Crane has gotten downright _handsy_ in the last week. Abbie’s not sure if it’s because he’s still trying to come to terms with the fact that they are together again, or he’s loosening up, but she’s still trying to get used to it. She’s still not sure how she feels about it. Most of the touches are little casual ones, but then he’ll do something like _this_ , and it feels like her nerves are on fire. Most of the time, she can shrug it off with a mental admonition of _It’s Crane,_ but there are times he will look at her, and the expression in his eyes will leave her breathless. Did he always look at her that way, before?

 

Crane’s fingers are warm against her cheek, and Abbie finds her gaze locked on his, every nerve singing in a pitch that matches the arias still soaring around them. The spoon is lowered to the counter, but Abbie doesn’t notice. Crane’s fingers are brushing against her jaw, and her heartbeat feels like it’s pulsing there.

 

The chirping of Crane’s phone pulls both of them from their staring match, and they lean away from each other, flushing. Crane glances at his phone and smiles at her, seemingly unaffected.

 

“Miss Jenny says she will be here in an hour to help you get ready.”

 

Abbie slides off of the stool, eager to escape the kitchen and the heat curling between them. “I guess I should go shower.”

 

Crane’s warm baritone floats after her as she races up the stairs.

* * *

 

Abbie didn’t mean to make an entrance, truly, she didn’t. But by the time Jenny got to her house, already dressed up in a long, gorgeous wine red gown with a plunging front and back—“What? I had time to go shopping.”—that is guaranteed to have Joe’s jaw on the floor, ready to help Abbie with her outfit, she found her older sister standing in front of her closet in a towel.

 

“I don’t really dress up,” Abbie told her for the third time, as Jenny rifled through her closet, flipping the clothes back and forth, as if moving them back and forth over the curtain rod would cause more clothes to appear.

 

“You don’t have anything?” Jenny growled something unfavorable under her breath about the afterlife simply duplicating their closets from before, instead of a closet full of designer clothes. “Wait—what about this?”

 

“That?” Abbie made a face. “I bought that for a fundraiser charity thing that the police department did years ago. I broke up with Luke a week before it happened, and I got lucky and was called out on patrol that night, so I didn’t have to go. I’ve never worn it.”

 

Jenny thrust it at her, grinning. “You’re wearing it.”

 

So now Abbie is traipsing down her stairs, feeling a little silly. It’s odd to dress up just to walk downstairs to your own dining room. She’s pretty sure that Jenny made her late on purpose by hiding her shoes. They were sitting next to her closet when she went to the bathroom to take care of her hair, but they were gone when she came back.

 

Soft classical music floats up the stairs to beckon her down, and she moves towards the dining room, which emanates with a glow that she knows is candlelight. The lights are still on, but the candles give the atmosphere a little more ambiance.

 

She pauses in the doorway, and heads turn expectantly towards her. Joe and Jenny sit side by side on the far side of the table—Joe is wearing a dark suit, and he grins when he sees Abbie, nudging Jenny.

 

Lori Mills and August Corbin twist around in their seats at her entrance, and Abbie flushes a little at the look on her mom’s face. “Oh, baby, you’re beautiful,” Lori tells her daughter, and August nods his approval.

 

When Abbie lifts her gaze, she finds a stunned Ichabod Crane standing at the head of the table, having risen to his feet as she entered.

 

“Abbie…” he breathes her name, and she shivers, the warmth in his voice making it seem as if he stands right beside her. The candlelight catches on the heat in his gaze, and he stares at her as if there are the only two people in the room.

 

He is at her side in three strides, and he offers her his arm. She studies him as she accepts it, finding him dressed in a more elegant version of his colonial garb—his pants are a deep cream and his boots are shining with polish. He wears a dark embroidered jacket over a white shirt and an elaborately tied cravat, and it looks like he might have tried to tame his hair, with little success.

 

Crane escorts her to her seat, unable to take his eyes off of her. Jenny nudges her boyfriend, who is watching her sister and Crane interact, rapt. “Do you think they know anyone else is in the room?”

 

“Nope,” Joe breathes back, looking delighted. Jenny settles back into her seat, smug with triumph. The dress that Abbie had protested at wearing is black, with a high neckline in the front and nearly nothing in the back. A nearly thigh-high split up the sides allows for movement, and the long sleeves are sheer. Her skin glows in the candlelight, and Crane settles her into her seat, his hands lingering on her back and shoulders before he moves away to the other end of the table.

 

Dinner is amazing—there are at least five courses, not including the pie and ice cream for dessert that everyone protests at and then happily consumes. Then after the dessert, there is wine and coffee, and it is late by the time Jenny decides that Joe’s wandering hands have become something they need to take back to the trailer.

 

At that, August gallantly offers to escort Lori home. There are hugs and kisses at the door, and then Abbie and Crane are left alone in a house that was bursting with laughter and stories an hour before, and the tension that exists between them rushes back to fill the space.

 

There is a easy familiarity to doing dishes, at least, and Abbie takes comfort in that, even as Crane continues his streak of contact: a hand brushing against her bare back, his hip brushing against hers as he moves around her to put the dishes in the dishwasher. She nearly drops a glass when he comes up behind her as she clearing the table and reaches around her for the plate next to her hand. His broad chest presses against her shoulder for a moment, and she is enveloped by the scent that will always be _Crane_ : clean soap and spice and a hint of the shampoo that he uses.

 

Then the dishes are done, the food put away, and they are left facing each other at the bottom of the stairs.

 

“I have to say, Crane, you put on one hell of an evening.” Abbie tries for levity, but her voice comes out hoarse and low, hushed by the quiet of the house around them.

 

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Crane’s eyes are bright in the low light coming from the dining room, and he captures her hand in his. She expects him to bow over it, and he does, the respectful gesture making her shiver, but he does not bring her knuckles to his lips, as he has in the past.

 

This time, he turns her hand over, her palm cradled in his own. The warmth from his body flows to hers from that one small point of contact, and Abbie is glad for the cool air against her bare back.

 

Slowly, gently, he brings her hand to his lips and presses a kiss to the center of her palm. Before she can react to the unexpected touch, he lifts his head infinitesimally. The hand not cradling her own tugs down the cuff of her sleeve, and then his lips are pressing against the thin skin of her wrist, directly over her pulse point.

 

Abbie can’t smother the gasp that escapes her as she rocks back, surprised by the touch. His lips are soft against her skin, a contrast to the rasp of his facial hair; a pleasant abrasion. She knows he can feel her heartbeat thundering rapidly against her skin—he is still in contact with her pulse.

 

 His blue eyes flicker up to meet her dark ones, and they catch and hold. Abbie stares down at him, her breath coming short, surprised by how much a simple touch can affect her.

 

“Abbie…” Her name on his lips is heavy, and the affection in it has her heart racing.

 

She’s not sure if it’s the increased contact or the sound of him saying her name, but she’s the one to reach out and touch him this time, cupping his head with both hands and bringing him up so she can kiss him.

 

He sucks in a surprised breath against her lips, stiffening for just a moment before wrapping his arms around her and gathering her to him. Her feet leave the floor, and she wraps her arms around his neck, tilting her head and changing the angle of the kiss.

 

Crane pulls back a little. “Abbie…” Her name is a ragged moan this time, and Abbie reaches for him again—

 

“Oh. Sorry. I think I left my purse.”

 

Abbie’s feet are back on the floor and Crane is standing two feet away by the time Jenny finishes her sentence. Crane is studiously not looking at her, and Abbie brings a hand to her hair, hoping that Jenny hadn’t seen anything.

 

* * *

 

“Well?”

 

Jenny grins at Joe as she slides into the driver’s seat—he's had three glasses of wine to her one, and old habits are hard to break, even if they are both dead. “Oh, I totally interrupted something.”

 

“Yes!” Joe pumps his fist in the air and the reaches down for something at his feet. He hoists an unopened bottle of champagne into view and grins at her. “Let’s go celebrate.”

 

* * *

 

Back in the house, Crane reaches tentatively out towards Abbie, cautious hope in his eyes. “Leftenant?”

 

_This is how to spend eternity._

 

Abbie offers her hand, and Crane brushes his lips against her knuckles in a brief touch. She reaches out to press her hand against his cheek, and he leans into her touch.

 

Her grin is wicked. “Where were we?”


End file.
